Goodbye
by Dreaming of the skies
Summary: Sherlock has finally returned after his fake suicide, but sometimes things don't always have a happy ending


John stood at the grave, he didn't feel _anything_. Not anymore, the first time he went he'd been mourning, but now? Now he didn't feel the overwhelming sadness that he had when Sherlock jumped, he wasn't mad, he just felt numb. He felt distant, detached from his feelings; he couldn't bring himself to mourn, over his, friend. But he wasn't really a fiend, not anymore, no, if he had been a friend he would have thought of John. Turns out he'd just been living in a _fairy tale_, he chuckled, an ironic chuckle. Isn't that what this whole thing had been about, fairy tales? Turns out they were true, all of them. There was no Moriarty; he was just an actor, an innocent actor. John shook his head, it was a lie, all of it just a lie. He turned away from the grave, the wind pushing him forward, crawling around him, he pushed through, walking, and he glanced back, stared before walking away. One last time, no, he would not come back. Not if he could help it.

~3 years later~

It was the day, finally, after 3 long years he was going to propose, for some reason he felt like something else had happened on this day, something bad. He didn't know what of course, and he was far too excited to take notice of this feeling. He'd booked a place in a nice restaurant, he'd been saving his money for a while to get the perfect ring, and finally he had enough, he brought one, it wasn't the most expensive but it was what Mary would want, it was perfect.

John sat in the restaurant wait for Mary, he was studying the menu, ordering their favourite wine and meal, he wanted, no _needed_ this night to be perfect. He heard the door open; he looked up, hoping it to be Mary. It wasn't. It was a tall man with brown curly hair, not to long but not short, it hung just by his ear, he face was coated in guilt. He wore a nice medium length coat with the collar turned up, a blue scarf and a purple tight fighting shirt. He looked so familiar but John could not think why, it annoyed him. The man looked around, before walking over to Johns table, fear stuck on his face "Hello John" suddenly memories came flooding back to John, _Sherlock_. How?! _Sherlock_ died. He watched him jump of the bloody hospital roof, that that was what today was, the three year anniversary of his death, how did he forget, no wait, how the hell was he alive?! He felt, panic, fear and sadness but anger overtook all of those emotions. He was furious, a white hot furious, the very worst type of emotion there is, there's nothing quite like it, and it blinds you, it takes you by surprise and rules your brain, you can't think straight. In a daze John stood up. "_You_" He snarled. "You were _dead. _I watched you jump off a bloody _roof_. How the hell can you be alive Sherlock?" He practically shouted. "No, come on we can talk here" He pulled Sherlock into the lobby of the restaurant

"J-John, you have to believe me, I never meant to hurt yo-"

"You never meant to hurt me, you never meant to _hurt me?! _You jumped of a bloody roof in front of me and you never meant to _hurt_ me? What the hell is wrong with your head Sherlock?! No don't answer that. I don't want to know. Forget it. I'm going." John turned to walk away, he couldn't deal with this. This was meant to be a happy day. A joyous day. But no Sherlock turned up and ruined that. When didn't he?

Sherlock was left there; for once he didn't know what to say. Finally the words forming in his mouth. "I'm sorry John." He all but murmured. John however still heard him, he felt his heart begin to crack, Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes apologized, then John remembered why Sherlock apologized and rage flooded him again before he knew what he was doing he'd pulled his fist back and hit Sherlock straight in mouth, giving Sherlock a split lip.

"But John please. Look just give me one night. Please. L-look I have a case that I need my blogger to help with. Please John?"

John Sighed. "No Sherlock I can't"

"John, please, wouldn't you like the thrill of the chase in your blood pumping through your veins again? Just the two of us against the world. Wouldn't you like that?"

"No Sherlock, I can't. I'm sorry, please, never contact me again Sherlock. I can't deal with this. Have a nice life I guess." John weakly smiled. "Goodbye Sherlock." With that John turned around and walked out the restaurant in the cold autumn air the wind swirling around him as Sherlock watched the only person in his life who'd ever mattered to him slip away before his eyes.


End file.
